


Something in your bed

by Threatie



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dirty Talk, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Original Fiction, Other, Reader Insert, Sort of? - Freeform, attraction to women, sexual thoughts about a coworker, unspecified gender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23429878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threatie/pseuds/Threatie
Summary: I had a dream that a tiny little dragon scorpion demon thing stung you with its barbed tail and then, once you were paralyzed and sleepy, curled up close and whispered erotic fantasies.Then I wrote it down.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Something in your bed

-

There is something in bed with you.

Your first warning is a hot sting just above your ankle, causing you to quickly retract your foot. You rub the sharpness of the pain away with your other leg under the safety of the blanket, wondering if there’s a wasp in your room.

The thought doesn’t feel quite as... _important_ as it should.

You hear a soft sound, accompanied by a small impact, as though a cat has leapt up onto your bed. Or, not a cat. A kitten.

You don’t have a kitten.

Your bed is...so warm. In your bed, you are so warm. You shift slightly against the smooth sheets, snuggling down deeper into the soft, soft mattress.

Quiet footfalls beside your body are more felt than heard, a muffled pitter-patter against the blanket. Something walking up the bed, following the raised lines of your body where you lay, unmoving, below the blanket.

It’s such a warm blanket. Warm and heavy. Your ankle throbs dully. It’s a satisfied sort of soreness, the kind you want to revel in.

The footfalls have reached your face. You can feel your pillow dip as something climbs on top. Slowly, so slowly, you lift your head.

It’s a dragon. Small, green, ornamental in appearance. Flashes of ruby and gold glint from its lips, its claws, and at points among its tiny, perfect scales.

The words “well-made” are in your mind, comparing this dragon to the finely formed, delicate statues you’ve seen for sale. But that’s not quite right.

This dragon is no statue.

Your head is so, so heavy. You relax back into the pillow. The dragon mirrors the motion, settling down beside you like a snake coiling itself up to sleep. It’s tail wraps around itself, and at the end you see a sharp golden barb, pointed and glinting like an arrowhead. It reminds you of a scorpion, and the comparison finally manages to dredge up a tingle of the fear you know you should be feeling. That barb looks like it would _hurt_.

Another pleasant throb from your ankle, and you realize that it _did_.

The dragon is facing you, its head resting comfortably against its front paws. It regards you with eyes like polished chips of obsidian. You...can’t move. Your blanket may as well be made of stone.

The dragon opens its mouth. Sharp, opalescent teeth flash like needles in the harsh light of the street lamp outside. A silk-red tongue flicks out, snakelike. Beneath layers of muffled unconcern, you ready yourself to be bitten.

“Were you thinking about Stephanie?”

The words surprise you, as much as you can be surprised with the heaviness pressing down on you. The dragon’s voice is soft, so soft, and deeper than you would’ve imagined it was capable of. Its tone is like buffed metal, gentle and yet unyielding.

But the words themselves…

“H-hhow…” Your own words are slurred, your tongue heavy in your mouth. “How do you...know…”

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” The dragon is speaking conspiratorially, as though you are two coworkers gossiping over a drink. “That hair, and the things she _puts_ in it, the _time_ that must take her. But her hair’s not what you like to stare at, is it?”

You feel...so sleepy. You’re warm all over, immobilized against the mattress. All you can do is lay there, watching, waiting for the dragon to continue. When it speaks again, it’s in a low hum that vibrates inside you as though the words have dissolved to smoke, carried deep into your body by the very air you breathe.

“Your favorite part of Stephanie is her great, _great_ tits.”

You moan softly, filled with a pooling heat you have no choice but to experience. You can’t shift to distract yourself, can’t cast around the room for something else to look at.

You can’t slide a hand between your legs, either. All you can do is take it, endure the soft whisperings, while the dragon stares unblinkingly into your eyes.

“Such a nice curve to them.” The dragon sounds almost thoughtful, as though describing a work of art. “Full...generous...bountiful, one might say. The way they would fill your hands, so...heavy. And warm. Always so warm, even bared to the cold, just below the surface would lurk that soft glow of life.”

The words burn inside you like gulps of warm liquid, filling you with a desire you have no way to satisfy. The most movement you can manage is a slight shifting of your body, a useless rocking motion that only serves to lull you further.

“Think of all the things you could _do_ to those tits.” The dragon breathes the words into you like the highest seduction, as though promising you the world. “With your hands. Your lips. Your _tongue_.”

You _want_ more powerfully than you’ve ever known. At the same time, your eyes burn to close, that familiar loss of balance tilting your thoughts that signals the creeping approach of sleep. The dragon is watching you. You can feel it, curled beside you and watching as you succumb to whatever venom lurks in that stinger. That jewel-bright tongue flicks out, tasting the air. It’s the last thing you see before your eyes slide closed.

“Imagine.” The word is a soft command. “How they would feel against your face.”

Your awareness dissolves around the thought, and you’re falling gently into blankness.


End file.
